The massive iron gates rose with a rusty screech, revealing the cruel golden-red light of the arena, blinding them for an instant. Perseo stepped forward with his body tense, the suffocating heat clinging to his skin like a mantle of fire. At his side, the old man with the scar across his face exhaled a deep breath. Behind them, a handful of sves were also pushed forward by reptilian guards who reveled in the fear reflected in the prisoners’ eyes.

  They were all released from their shackles and bindings.

  There it was again. The same pce where his life in the Coliseum of Shadows had begun, where brutality had become his only certainty.

  The roar of the crowd was deafening. He still couldn’t get used to their cries, filled with malice. A sea of shadows howling with frenzy, hungry for a blood-soaked show.

  From high above in a balcony, a figure cd in bck robes—the announcer—raised his voice above the chaos.

  “Demons and dark creatures, today the arena will devour the weak! Today, the will of the strong shall decide who survives!”

  The sves crowded together, trembling in terror. Perseo clenched his fists. His body still carried the exhaustion of bor, of hunger, of fear.

  On the far end of the arena, another gate groaned open with a metallic whine that reverberated through the coliseum. A few seconds of silence followed—then, the thunderous impact of cws and hooves against stone.

  Three monstrous beasts burst into the arena, their bodies a grotesque amalgam of flesh, bone, and living shadow, as if they had died decades ago but refused to rest.

  Their eyes glowed with a primal hunger. One, a six-legged creature with an enormous jaw, let out a growl that made the sves tremble.

  “By the gods… what kind of creature is that?” a sve whispered, his voice barely audible in the chaos.

  The first scream of agony echoed through the arena as one of the beasts lunged at a sve and crushed him in an instant. Blood sprayed across the sand and the faces of those nearby, driving the crowd into a frenzy.

  “MOVE!” Perseo shouted, gripping a chipped knife he had found on the ground.

  The fight had begun.

  Perseo dodged by pure instinct as one of the beasts lunged at him, its cws digging into the sand where he’d been standing a second before. He rolled and sprang back up, adrenaline burning away the fatigue. His eyes darted to the other prisoners—some had scattered, others were paralyzed with fear.

  “Don’t stop moving!” he roared, though his voice was lost in the chaos.

  The six-legged beast drew another scream as it snatched up a man and crushed him in its jaws. The crack of bones was followed by a spray of blood. Perseo’s stomach twisted, but he couldn’t falter.

  The old man with the scar moved beside him, wielding an improvised spear—just a sharpened piece of wood tied to a bde. His eyes, despite his age, still gleamed with focus.

  “Go for the tendons!” the old man shouted, unching himself toward the nearest beast.

  Perseo rushed in beside him, narrowly avoiding another lunge. The sand vibrated under the monsters’ weight. The prisoners fought desperately—some nding blows, others falling without a chance.

  A sve tried to break down the arena gate, but a beast caught him mid-sprint, its cws tearing through his spine. He colpsed, his scream choked by blood. Another woman fled through the carnage, but a bck, bony tentacle shed out and snapped her neck with a sickening crack.

  The old man drove his spear into one of the beast’s back legs, making it howl and stumble. Seeing his chance, Perseo spun and buried his knife into the creature’s front joint. It screamed and staggered but wasn’t down yet.

  Suddenly, a crushing blow threw Perseo to the ground. His back smmed against the hot sand, knocking the air from his lungs. He looked up just in time to see the six-legged creature lunging at him again. He rolled at the st second, its jaws snapping inches from his leg.

  “Get up, boy!” the old man shouted, throwing him another rusty knife.

  Perseo caught it and, without thinking, dove toward the wounded beast. He drove the bde deep into its neck. The creature thrashed violently, but its wound was fatal. Seconds ter, it colpsed, the crowd’s roar drowning everything.

  But there was no time to celebrate. Two beasts remained, and the crowd still thirsted for blood.

  Perseo rose, panting, eyes fixed on the remaining monsters.

  A scream chilled his blood. He turned just in time to see one beast impale a prisoner with its cws, lifting her like a ragdoll. The young woman kicked and thrashed, but with a single jerk, the creature tore her in half.

  Blood rained over the sand.

  Another sve ran aimlessly. A rge man, his face twisted with terror, fled blindly. He turned his back to his death.

  The third beast pounced, its jaws closing around his skull with a wet crack. He spasmed once, then fell limp. The sound of crushed bone and brain echoed in Perseo’s ears.

  He fought the nausea, but there was no room for weakness. He moved on instinct. He saw a sve trembling, weapon slipping from his sweat-soaked hands.

  “Don’t stop!” Perseo shouted, but the man was frozen.

  The six-legged beast smmed into him. His body flew across the arena and hit the wall with a sickening thud. He didn’t move again.

  Perseo stepped forward, but the roar of the crowd hit him like a wave. The stench of blood and burned flesh, the screams of the dying...

  The world twisted.

  He wasn’t in the arena anymore.

  He saw fmes consuming his home. Corpses in the streets. Shadows moving through the smoke.

  His father, chest split by a dark bde.

  His brother, still holding his hand, eyes wide but empty.

  The smells—charred flesh, loss, death—merged with the Coliseum’s stench. Guilt crushed him.

  It was over. His kingdom. His family. His life.

  Why keep fighting?

  His body felt heavy. His vision blurred.

  The beasts approached, but his mind was elsewhere.

  “Boy!” the old man’s voice cracked the air like a whip.

  No reaction. The words didn’t reach him.

  A cw rose over him. Shadowed fangs closed in.

  He didn’t move.

  Then a strong hand grabbed him and shook him violently.

  “Wake up, damn it!”

  Perseo blinked. The old man stood before him, fury in his eyes. Beside him, the beast writhed, a spear buried in its eye.

  “If you stay down, you’re dead!” the old man shouted, breath ragged.

  Reality returned like ice water. The heat, the blood, the crowd...

  The demons screamed. The announcer raised his arms in theatrical glee.

  Perseo’s hands trembled, but this time, they gripped the knife tighter.

  He had been on the edge—but he would not fall.

  “MOVE, DAMN YOU! We’re the st ones left!” the old man roared.

  The beasts charged.

  And Perseo, blood boiling in his veins, raised his bde.

  “The Coliseum demands a true spectacle! The final duel has arrived!”

  He looked around—at the fallen beast, the corpses, the crowd. It all felt like a scene from a story, and he a mere spectator.

  Until the old man struck him back to reality.

  The st two beasts, drenched in gore, turned toward them with renewed hunger.

  Perseo shook off the shock, spat to the side, and gripped his bde tightly.

  He would not die here.

  “Let’s finish this,” he said, resolute.

  The monsters charged.

  The old man dove right, driving a shard of metal into a beast’s joint. It barely pierced the thick hide. The creature spun, hurling him against the arena wall with a bone-cracking thud.

  Perseo dodged the other beast’s pounce. His heart thundered. One wrong move and it was over.

  The beast sshed. He blocked, but the blow nearly shattered his arm. Blood poured from a deep gash.

  He gritted his teeth.

  The old man struggled to rise. The nearest weapon was out of reach.

  Perseo saw the second beast crouch, ready to pounce.

  No choice. He activated his magic.

  Astrion, the God of Stars—his gift was a glimpse into the near future.

  He saw the beast’s next move a fraction before it happened.

  He dove under it and sshed deep into its belly. Blood and entrails spilled with a sickening sptter. The creature howled and colpsed.

  One left.

  But no time to rest.

  The final beast charged.

  Perseo tried to move, but his legs failed.

  Then came the old man’s roar.

  Energy rippled in the air. His form twisted. Muscles bulged, skin turned gray, eyes shone with feral light. Gnarled fangs, cws, power—he transformed.

  Fangrel’s blessing.

  He wasn’t human anymore—but not a monster either.

  He attacked with primal fury.

  He smmed the beast down, tore chunks from its flesh, but was bitten in return.

  Still, he did not stop.

  He tore the beast’s throat open and hurled it aside.

  Perseo, seeing an opening, forced himself up. His mind bzed with loss and rage.

  With a cry, he drove his bde into the monster’s eye. It thrashed—then the old man leapt in, grabbed its neck, and broke it with a thunderous crack.

  He tore its throat out in one final bite.

  Silence.

  Then—roaring chaos.

  Demons screamed, coins rained from the stands.

  Perseo y in the blood, trembling.

  The old man reverted slowly, colpsing.

  “I don’t do that often, boy,” he groaned with a half-smile. “But I’m tired of this damned coliseum.”

  Perseo helped him up, grim.

  “This isn’t over,” the old man muttered.

  From above, the announcer smiled.

  “Incredible!” he roared. “A battle worthy of legend! But tell me, noble audience, is it enough?!”

  “MORE BLOOD! MORE BLOOD!” they screamed.

  The arena shook.

  Perseo clenched his jaw.

  He knew what was coming.

  He could feel it in his bones.